Luscious Courtesan

Luscious Courtesan1

Jan 20092

Looking at the open diary in my hand and those lying scattered all over the crisp white linen of my bed – tainting it - the tears begin to flow, taking me by surprise. Hot tears. Tears burning for the innocence lost in that one moment. Tears for the naivety that could never again be a part of me. I can’t believe it. All these years later and I here I am, still crying.3

Turning my attention again to the beautiful leather diary I am holding, I thoughtfully caress the soft, luxurious sheepskin and sensuously run my fingertips over the gold lettering which once, so proudly, shouted out my name … The Luscious Layla. 4

I open the first page of the diary, and see, pasted in there, with the corners cruelly curling away from the edges, much like the way my sanity sometimes seems to try to escape from my reality, the profile I put together on an internet Dating Site, called Luscious Courtesan. 5

Sighing deeply, with a soft, sad smile on my lips, I snuggle deeply into the Satin comforter. Nostalgia overwhelms me as I recall how writing in these diaries had been cathartic - like talking to my very own psychologist. About things I could never talk about in the ‘real world’. These diaries that became the closest thing to a Confidante I ever had. 6

I quickly scan the profile of my first “Potential Patron” and then the correspondence leading up to the meeting. Trying, failing to recall the sense of fun of ‘luring’ men to see how much they’d be prepared to pay. For me! After all, if one guy I met on the dating site was prepared to pay me R20k to be his mistress, maybe there were more… 7

Glancing down at the first entry I have ever written in a diary, my eyes get stuck on the first three words and begin to blur. I wipe my eyes roughly and begin to read… 8

Thursday, 22 December 2005, 11h359

Dear Diary10

Oh. My. God! Damn, that was close. Just had my first ‘Patron’ come for his ‘interview’. Why did I think I’d be the one doing the interviewing? How did it get switched around? How did he get to be naked within half an hour? 11

What on earth am I thinking? This is real. It’s not a joke. Not just words. I’ve created expectations I don’t think I can fulfil. It was a joke, for goodness sake, an experiment. Or was it?12

“LovingLife” was his User Name. George, in real life, or so he said.13

So Dear Diary, there he was. Lying naked! Sheesh! Within 15 minutes of arriving, he decided that I was the Courtesan for him and he spent the next 15 minutes trying to convince me to have sex with him. 14

“After all”, he said, “I am already ‘ready’ just sitting next to you. Let’s do it”. Just like that! Oh God. My heart was punching my ribs, making it hard to breathe. Now what? 15

The time had come for me to put my money where my mouth was (or is it my mouth where the money was?). 16

I tried to hide the fear that was causing my hands and voice to tremble. I told him I couldn’t just do it like that, snapping my fingers to accentuate my point. But, even as I told him I’ve never done this before, I could see that he didn’t believe me. 17

And, Dear Diary, why should he? After all, he was merely responding to my ‘advertisement’. As a High-Class Courtesan.18

“Well, okay then,” he said, “how about a pelvic massage?” Crickey! I don’t have the first clue as to what’s involved in a pelvic massage (other than the obvious up and down stuff). Can’t tell him that! I’m meant to be a Courtesan, remember? I didn’t know what to think. The fear and anger were jostling for position within me. I was so mad at myself for the ‘oversell’ of my profile. For not thinking it through. For not preparing myself for all eventualities. I just didn’t expect it to happen so fast. Damn. 19

With the fear turning to panic, as insidiously as a virus, I told him I couldn’t. I wasn’t ready. When he pointed out that this is not about me, I was stunned into momentary speechlessness. 20

Despite the fact that my vocal cords felt restricted by the fear that was now consuming me, I somehow managed to suggest I do some Reiki on him. As I explained that Reiki is a form of energy healing, I felt calmer and, thinking that I’d handled this one very well, I went to the bathroom to wash my hands, thinking “Phew! That was close!” 21

I came out, confident that he would have an experience he has never had before, albeit not quite what he had in mind, and walked back into the lounge to find him, in all the glory of his birthday suit … and an erection he was clearly, and unduly I might add, proud of. 22

Oh no. Now what? Stuttering and stammering I explained that Reiki is normally done fully clothed, asked him to lie on his back on the massage table and half-heartedly started scanning his body with my hands about two inches above him. 23

I couldn’t concentrate. Who could, Dear Diary, with that soft, worm-like little thing twitching and jerking every now and then? Gross. Not knowing whether to laugh or to cry (I could’ve done both, simultaneously) I walked away. I could sense his irritation and embarrassment, and prayed he wouldn’t get abusive. 24

I quietly grabbed my keys and headed toward the door in case I had cause to run. I could hear the sounds of him dressing as I stood there, looking at the clouds hanging as heavily in the sky as his sighs that filled the room with clouds of tension that were almost palpable.25

Bloody hell. My heart was banging in my chest, warning me, taunting me... ‘Ja, that will teach you’. Without even looking at him I could sense his annoyance – the atmosphere thick and awkward. Unable to contain my emotions, I turned to him with tears streaming down my face, and watched a kaleidoscope of emotions flicker across his face ... Embarrassment. Confusion. Wonder. Disbelief. Curiosity. Anger. 26

Thankfully he decided that this was a good time to leave. He suggested I take some time to think about it some more and that we have dinner one night soon. A normal date. I agreed. Only too happy to see him go. Or was I? There goes the rent. Damn. Now what?27

I can’t believe it. Here I am, still broke. Who would’ve thought I couldn’t go through with it, hey? 28

Maybe I can console myself with the thought that it was just because I hadn’t been expecting it. That all I need is to psyche myself up beforehand, but, how do I really feel about it? Why couldn’t I do it?29

After all, he was very, very good looking, very wealthy, clearly accepting of the conditions, no problem with chemistry from either side, and yet I let him go. The man who was prepared to pay me a R20k ‘deposit’ and R20k a month to entertain him. Doing what I’ve been doing for every man in my life for the past 20 years – for free. And in return for what?30

And I thought it would be so easy. After all, most women I know have had sex when they haven’t wanted to. I sure have. I’ve done my fair share of ‘gratitude’ ones and ‘might-as-well’ ones, so why was it so hard? 31

Why is it so important to be respected? Why does it matter what he thinks of me? I don’t know. I just know that it is and it does. 32

Holding my place in the diary with my index finger, I lean back, remembering…. surprised at well I remember looking down at the naked stranger on my massage table. How well I recall the very moment when the trance I was in was shattered. When reality slapped me in my face, as though a hypnotist had just snapped his fingers. 33

Vivid memories of the surprising cold tears that had crept so shamefully down my cheeks. As cold as the lonely fear that seemed to seep from within my gut. Consuming me. Remembering the taste of the salt on my lips as I stood there, shocked rigid, looking down on the first undressed stranger I had ever seen (other than the occasional one-nighter, of course). 34

Suddenly my reverie is broken by the sound of a car stopping outside. My heart leaps. My husband is home. I put aside the diaries and rush to meet him, thinking that he is just as gorgeous as the day he lay naked on my table. “Hello George” I say as I open my arms to the love of my life.35

© Lee Last, 200936

Excerpt from the novel, The Luscious Courtesan37